


I saw you crying over there

by lunaloop



Category: SHINee
Genre: Experimental, Gen, M/M, inspired by the tokyo dome hug, jonghyun speaks to key, short piece, weird metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 22:35:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21084206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaloop/pseuds/lunaloop
Summary: I saw you crying over there, your nose as red as your head. I saw the awkward patting happening, the comfort that didn’t seem to calm you down, so I headed over.





	I saw you crying over there

**Author's Note:**

> This is an experimental piece which is, as you will see, very different from what I usually write. It is inspired by SHINee's performance at the Tokyo Dome, more specifically the first few minutes of [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oUytfQx3eyQ&t=106s) video. That moment has always touched my heart a lot, but last night I was inspired and as I came across some of my screenshots, I felt the need to put everything into words. Just for me - and for some of you.

I saw you crying over there, your nose as red as your head. I saw the awkward patting happening, the comfort that didn’t seem to calm you down, so I headed over.

I am looking at you and while you cry, I laugh. I know you’re not sad, could never be in front of the crowd, our crowd, and yet my chest bursts into flames as I watch you like this. Right in front of my eyes, your tear-streaked cheeks, your faux-blue eyes filled with a hundred raindrops.

You look ethereal and I reach out to let my hand rest on your head; it has never felt as heavy before.

I watch you cry harder and there’s a double knot in my throat. I wonder who tied it – it couldn’t have been me, who struggles with his shoelaces every morning. The sight of you, completely loose, makes me feel things I am not familiar with.

I decide to hug you. As I embrace you under the white lights, your arms looping around me right below my own, a thought briefly flashes through my head. How many times have I hugged you like this?

It’s been too many years to count, but as the frenetic sirens pierce through my head, I realize we have never let us be seen.

Your body shivers; it rumbles like a cat that is being petted in just the right places. Sobs drip from your mouth, but I can’t hear them through the tears that blur my sight. In front of me, the world turns magenta.

There is only you and me in this world; the shining you and the small me, a clueless artist and maybe a poet. But there are many faces I do not recognize, faces of those that scream for us and I can’t hold the river in anymore.

It flows out of my eyes, my nose, my mouth, maybe my ears too and my chest is being squeezed as I hold you the tightest I ever have.

I cannot fathom that I really have you in my arms, the fascinating you, after so many years still. My head must burst from all the pictures of your face I keep up there; laughing, smiling, crying, asleep, your skin, your scars, your moles and the frail hairs growing right above your nape.

I am sad; so sad that I feel happy, that I am on top of a mountain and I want to scream just to get it all out of my stomach. It has been months since the sadness has last subsided and I cannot handle it anymore.

So I cry; because I am holding you in my arms even after the many nights where I was sure I would stop breathing. Oftentimes, you are the one to make me hesitate, to stay just a second longer.

I cry because we are standing in front of a crowd of strangers whom we can never show our true faces to yet who know far more about us than we ever could.

I cry because you’re crying, because you, the empathetic you, must have realized that my dam has broken. Like little paws, your hands run up and down my back and I feel warm. This is home.

For only a few seconds and forever, we keep standing intertwined, like the disaster we are – keeping each other grounded and pulling us down the drain as the world begins to spin faster and faster.

Once again, there is a pair of hands that is awkwardly patting me, patting us – and I know Minho has realized that our moment is over. He knew it before I did.

Finally, we pull away from each other and I stumble, deaf and blind, into another person’s arms – they become my lifeline.

Minutes later, when I can see and you can breathe again, we exchange a single glance. I look into your eyes which are as red as your head and our hearts smile at each other. Then I watch you, the broken you, raise the microphone to your lips and a strange language flows out of you. I understand anyway because your words are notes and your speech is a song.

I turn to the crowd. I want to say thank you; because I got to be alone with you in a sea of people. Soon, it will be my turn to speak.

I saw you crying over there, so I went over to give you some comfort. I ended up crying harder than you, yet I can tell you, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this piece until the end. Please anticipate more from me, I am currently working very hard on finishing the sequel to Let's Talk About Sex Baby. I also may venture into other fandoms soon, but that will be a surprise if it happens.
> 
> To those that care for a bit of background info: I've participated in a lot of writing workshops lately, some good and some mediocre. Yesterday, I went to the first meeting of a group of young authors around my age (we're all girls, funnily). The pieces that were read out there really inspired me as well as some other things I had heard that day, so I tried out a more expressive and colorful style of writing if that makes sense. I hope you enjoyed it anyway, and if you want to talk to me about the things I've learned so far, you can pm me on [insta](https://www.instagram.com/_artistic_whale_/?hl=de).


End file.
